Safe Houses
by HolidayBoredom
Summary: 'You were five inches away from shooting me,' complained Artemis. 'Couldn't you at least have had the patience to wait until I had left' 'I wanted to have the chance to say hello to you,' replied Tuley, petulantly. ' It was damn indecent of you to pretend to die like that. I was most put out when I heard. I wasn't even invited to the funeral.' RA AU offshoot.


**This is a sort of RA AU offshoot which I am unsure of the course of. I just literally spewed it out over the last coupla hours. It is now, what is commonly known as, 'daft o'clock'. Apologies is this is garbled nonsense since it hasn't been touched with a beta-ing pole and... indeed.**

**Everyone who wants the last chapter of RA: well, it's in the works.**

**Otherwise, this will be what won't leave my head alone: AKA, if Annie met Holly. What if Tuley, Annie, t'other OCs I've got (in my head and scattered throughout RA) met the fairy folk. This will assume a little bit of knowledge from RA, but really not a lot. I just don't want to plough over old ground and bore everybody shitless... You'll see what I mean when my girl comes in.**

**Also, this chapter has MAGIC AGES. So, when you see a character's age and are like 'But surely they should be older/younger?' NO! NOT TRUE! because this story has MAGIC AGES.**

**Hopefully this chapter is exciting... **

**The story name is provisional, because I have no idea where this is going! But I didn't have a clue where RA was going until around 4/6 chapters in (can't remember) so it'll be all goooood. **

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Disclaimer: *takes magic potion* "ARGHSHJYUHJSKDFGUSIDGUJJ!" *still does not become Eoin Colfer*

**IMPORTANT SHIZZ FER THE CHILLUNS**

Rating Reasons: Violence, death, creepiness, one bad word (maybe more, I forget).

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Chapter 1 - Jem

'Check your left, Artemis. You're being watched.'

The billionaire sighed. 'Of course I'm being watched, Butler. People are drunk and I'm wearing custom Armani...'

A blonde girl with flushed cheeks and pink lipstick was leaning across a sticky table top towards him. She smiled, glancing pointedly at the hand resting on the inside of her thigh. Her legs slid apart.

There was a shrill whinny in Artemis's ear. 'She did _not _just do that,' exclaimed Foaly.

The teenager rolled his eyes and looked away in order to scan the rest of the night club. The night-vision in his LEP iris-cam allowed him to see through the smog and shadows, gaining access to things he perhaps would have preferred not to.

'Oh dear _gods_,' groaned Foaly. 'On a _speaker? Really?_'

'Keep your wits about you, Artemis,' advised Butler, as the genius joined the throngs of people already milling towards the dance floor. 'Head straight for your target, don't let anyone distract you.'

'Yes, I know,' said Artemis, who was already beginning to feel rather irritated. 'Really, Butler. Dr Kinning is a friend. There is no reason for you to be so tense.'

'A friend who _may_ be dealing with fairy smugglers,' said Foaly pointedly.

'Perhaps,' admitted Artemis, 'but a friend nonetheless. And I am doing you a favour, centaur, so you would do better not to harass me.'

'Remember the last time we went up against a human smuggler contact, Artemis?'

'Koboi is dead, old friend. I highly doubt I'll be walking upstairs to find a softnose laser pointed at my head and several crates worth of batteries. I simply need to get across this room, and then Dr Kinning and I can have a little chat…'

But that was easier said than done. The whole crowd was moving to the pounding, monotone bass, arms and heads flailing out occasionally like the mutant limbs of one giant, pulsing organism. Sweat-soaked bodies grinded up against his and he was forced to use his hips and elbows to wedge and push his way through the mass. Faces leered at him: drunken, shiny and flushed. He leant his head back as far as he could and tried to avoid the wafts of hot breath pushing their way down his throat.

He reached the other side with a relieved sigh.

'Right,' said Foaly. 'You just need to head left until you reach a small spiral staircase. It should be relatively easy to spot; there'll be two guys waiting at the bottom who look like they could snap you in half. Bit like Butler really.'

Artemis smoothed his jacket. 'Thank you, Foaly, a most comforting thought.'

This new area was sparsely populated, with only a few lone drunkards staggering senselessly to booths or else leaning with their faces pressed up against the wall. There was, however, a noticeable hike in the number of security cameras, with at least seven trained on his person alone. Artemis glanced briefly at one before setting his eyes straight ahead.

The two guards drew themselves up as he approached.

'I'm here to see Doctor Kinning,' said the eighteen-year-old, standing unflinchingly before them. 'He is expecting me.'

The guards glanced at each other before one, the tallest of the pair, raised a hand to his earpiece. The giant listened for a brief second before nodding. He stood aside and Artemis ascended the staircase. There was a woman waiting for him at the top, dressed in a floor-length, silk _shenyi_.

'Greetings, Mr Fowl,' she said, inclining her head. 'My name is Jan Li. I shall escort you through to Doctor Kinning.'

Butler spoke in his ear. 'Take care, Artemis, she's almost definitely armed.'

'This way please, Mr Fowl.'

She walked ahead of him through a pair of open wooden doors and Artemis followed. He emerged into a corridor papered with crimson silk. Tall urns were twinned at intervals on either side of the corridor walls and embroidered tapestries dipped from the ceiling. There were no doors or windows. Artemis could see over Jan Li's shoulder to their only possible destination: a giant, curtained archway at the very end of the corridor. Once they were stood before it, Jan Li pulled on a tasselled cord. A gong rang from the screened room beyond.

Jan Li dipped her head once more.

'Doctor Kinning is waiting within.'

The drapes parted, apparently of their own accord, to reveal a huge, luxury apartment complete with multiple chaise-longues, crystal chandeliers, three tiger-headed rugs and a singular, silk-robed septuagenarian sipping brandy by the mini-bar. The old man turned to his visitor with apparent surprise.

'Arty!' he exclaimed, holding his arms wide. 'There you are, my boy! Come in! Come in!'

Artemis stepped inside the curtain and heard it sway heavily closed behind him.

'Doctor,' he said, finding that he didn't have to force himself to smile. 'It has been much too long.'

Kinning laughed and half walked, half jigged towards Artemis, folding the teenager into a weak but warm hug.

'How're the folks?'

Artemis was released.

'They are well, thank you, currently holidaying in Marbella.'

'Your mother always was one for the sun. Your father…not so much. Come, you must have a drink with me.'

He trotted back across to the mini-bar, pouring a generous amount of some golden liquid into two glasses.

'Don't drink it, Artemis,' said Butler's voice in his ear. 'It could be anything.'

'To timely reunions!' toasted Kinning, handing Artemis his glass.

Artemis raised it with a smile and the two men knocked back their drinks.

Kinning gasped and shook his head roughly. 'Ah! Bracing stuff.' He turned and walked towards the bar.

Artemis watched him closely before spitting his own glass-full into a nearby bonsai pot.

'Nice,' muttered Foaly.

Kinning turned back to him, clapping his hands.

'So! To what do I owe this pleasure?'

'May I sit down?'

'Of course, of course!'

Artemis seated himself on a couch, Kinning hurrying to take a perch opposite. 'Now speak!' said the old man eagerly. 'I am all ears…'

'Well–'

_Phewt._

Both Artemis's and Kinning's eyes widened with surprise.

'_Artemis!_' shouted Butler's voice in his ear, immediately recognising the sound of silenced gunfire. 'Get down!'

But the eighteen-year-old could only stare, transfixed, as the old man opposite him gargled with the blood now truckling from his mouth and over his lips. Then, like a sturdy evergreen chopped at the roots, Kinning tilted sideways, landing with a soft thump against his sofa cushions. His empty glass fell to the floor with a thud.

Artemis staggered up.

'Don't move.'

The young man froze. Something small and hard was pressed into the back of his head; presumably something with a trigger.

'What's going on?' demanded Butler in his ear. 'Artemis!'

Artemis could hear the frantic clicks of a computer keyboard.

'Put your hands on your head.'

'_D'arvit_,' swore Foaly.

Artemis obeyed instantly. The gun grated around the back of his skull as its owner moved to face him. He was masked and dressed entirely in black.

'Well, well,' murmured the stranger. His voice was light, apparently amused. 'Long time no see, Art.'

Artemis's eyes narrowed… and then he heaved a dramatic sigh, dropping his hands from his head.

'Oh, for God's _sake_,' he snapped

His assaulter ripped off his mask to reveal a young, handsome face beaming from beneath a mop of curling blonde hair.

'Tuley,' said Artemis flatly, 'could you not have waited _five more minutes_?'

Tuley Brannagh dropped the silenced pistol from Artemis's forehead and flicked on the safety catch.

'A job is a job, old chap,' he drawled easily. 'You know as well as I do that time is money.'

'Who the Hell has commissioned you?'

'Art, if I told you that, I would have to kill you. And you know I would, as nice as it is to have you back amongst the living.'

'Toulouse Brannagh,' said Foaly in Artemis's ear, having just cross-referenced the images coming through Artemis's iris cam with his human database. 'Irish-born, nineteen years old, has an Interpol file the size of _Jupiter_… Of course you'd be acquainted, Mud Boy.'

Artemis ignored him. He had not seen Tuley Brannagh in over five years – almost eight years for the blonde – not since he had made the decision to drop all his criminal contacts for the sake of his 'recovery' from crime. Tuley was an adult now (just as, _technically, _Artemis was as well – at least according to his birth certificate and the physical maturity of his clone). He was taller, at least six foot, and still as slim as Artemis remembered. But he had lost the gangly, young-flamingo look of his younger teens. He was a six-foot killing machine with a welcoming smile and perfect posture. Artemis could smell the potent odour of his expensive aftershave.

'You were five inches away from shooting _me_,' complained Artemis distractedly, trying to avoid looking at the new air hole in Dr Kinning's skull whilst coming up with a new plan. 'Couldn't you at least have had the patience to wait until I had left?'

'How was I to know how long you were going to be?' asked Tuley petulantly, flicking a hank of thick hair out of his eyes. Artemis placed the tips of his fingers to his temples, trying to think. 'I wanted to have the chance to say hello to you. I _had _heard of your recent resurrection, you know, not that you've bothered to get in contact…' He walked over to Kinning's cooling corpse and began rummaging around inside the top of his robe. 'It was damn indecent of you to pretend to die like that. I was most put out when I heard. I wasn't even invited to the funeral. Angeline had you dressed in Canali, of course,' he continued, his face serious as he fished for his mystery bounty. 'I know a friend of a friend who was pulled in last minute to be a pallbearer. The spread at the wake was apparently magnificent…'

Artemis frowned, finally opening his eyes again. 'Tuley, what are you—?'

The blonde cocked an eyebrow, and the gong that had sounded just before Artemis had entered the room rang again. He immediately pulled his hand back, bringing something small with it, and yanked down his mask.

'I suppose we will just have to catch up another time,' he said, stalking towards the other side of the room.

Butler spoke in Artemis's ear. 'You can't be found with the body, Artemis,' he said, his voice low and clearly angry. 'Kinning's associates will shoot you on sight.'

'Time to move, Mud Boy,' agreed Foaly.

Artemis pivoted. '_Tuley_!' he hissed, thrusting out a hand. 'You _cannot_ just leave me here with this mess.'

Tuley paused, his green eyes coolly meeting Artemis's blue ones.

'You've clearly got an out from here,' continued Artemis, his voice steady, firm. 'Take me with you.'

'Grandad?' called a young man's voice through the thick curtain.

Artemis cocked an eyebrow.

_Do it, _he prayed internally. _Come on, Tuley, take me with you. Then maybe I can retrieve what you've just stolen from Kinning for your mystery patron. _

And the blonde man smirked, rolling his eyes in apparent exasperation. He took three steps back towards the shorter boy and seized him by the skinny wrist.

'If only to save your parents the cost of yet _another_ funeral,' he said jovially, shoving him in front of him.

The gong rang again.

'Grandad?'

'The Doctor was entertaining a guest, Master Jeremy,' said the calm, professional voice of Jan Li. 'Perhaps he has taken him into the next room…'

Artemis's stomach sank and he heard Foaly tapping frantically away at his keyboard again as Tuley propelled him towards a sliding bamboo door.

'Jeremy Kinning,' said the centaur, somewhat grimly, 'the grandson of Dr Arthur Kinning and another favourite with Interpol. Twenty years old, wanted for everything from grand theft auto to sex trafficking. Another friend from the old days, Arty?'

'That gong is loud enough to wake the dead,' snapped Jeremy Kinning. 'He _should_ have heard it and responded by now.'

_Jem Kinning,_ thought Artemis. _Hellfire._

Tuley tugged him through the sliding door and into a cavernous bathroom where a large, stained-glass window depicting an antiquated Chinese farming scene had been left propped open. Artemis was bundled roughly towards it.

'_Grandfather!'_ cried a voice from the living room, and Artemis knew that Dr Kinning's body had been found. Jem, no doubt, would blame the Irish heir for the murder—

'You'll be the one getting blamed for that,' said Foaly in his ear, like a mother whose child has broken their favourite toy after multiple warnings not to hit it with a hammer.

Tuley's hands pushed at him, urging him to get onto the window's ledge. Artemis glanced down as his weak arms, now helpfully surging with adrenaline, pulled him up into the frame. He had expected to be presented with some sort of fire escape onto which he could then have made his escape, but there was only two floors of empty, alleyway air beneath him, ending abruptly in one of the nightclub's rubbish skips piled high with black bin bags and God-only-knew what else. He was about to point this out to Tuley, when the hand on the back of his jacket became that little bit more insistent. He gasped loudly as he was launched towards the ground.

Butler and Foaly both cried out at the same time. The over-flowing skip rushed up to meet him and Artemis clenched his eyes shut.

_Here I go again_, he thought.

And then he sunk down, hard, into what felt like a half-dried sponge. Whatever it was that he had landed on sprang him back up again. It bounced him once, twice, a short distance into the air, until he stopped, spread-eagled and panting, his eyes still closed, his body tensed but ultimately unharmed, flat on his face.

All Artemis could do was breathe.

'_Move!_' bellowed a voice from above, and something in his jellified muscles acted on the command, forcing him to drag himself out over the lip of the skip.

Tuley landed exactly where Artemis had landed mere moments before, his arms slapping the camouflaged padding beneath him in order to counteract his impact. The young hit-man rolled out of the skip with much more grace and speed than Artemis had managed.

'Come along,' said Tuley crisply, brushing himself off, shifting the holster of his gun back into its proper position.

Shouts could be heard from above them, mingling with the muffled sound of bass seeping through the walls of the night club. Artemis looked around him. They'd landed in the rubbish depot running alongside the late Dr Kinning's infamous nocturnal establishment. Another skip, and a dumpy, green bottle bank, stood between them and the light and the noise from the main street and front entrance of the club. But Tuley was walking in the opposite direction. Artemis followed him numbly into the shadows, still recovering from the absolute certainty he had felt, not twenty seconds before, that he had been about to die, again. Foaly and Butler were still calling him in his ear.

'Put this on,' ordered Tuley, who was now stood beside an anonymous, darkly painted motorbike propped up on a kickstand.

Artemis swallowed. 'I'm already wearing one,' he said, his voice strained, his wits gradually returning to him.

Tuley held out the heavy, military-issue bullet-proof vest.

'Trust me,' he said, giving Artemis's thinly padded torso another sceptical glance. 'You're going to need it.'

The voices above them were growing louder. Artemis allowed Tuley to drop the vest over his head and gritted his teeth against the extra pounds of weight pulling at his shoulders. A black helmet was passed into his hands. He put it on quickly, Tuley having already fastened the straps of his own helmet, shut the lid of the bike's minimal cargo hold, and swung one leg over the bike's padded seat. Artemis struggled to clamber on behind him.

'_Down there!' _barked a deep, foreboding voice from above.

Butler managed to yell half a warning into his charge's ear before—

_Crack._

Artemis's head was smacked to the right as a bullet collided with his helmet, crushing his fairy earpiece into the side of his ear canal, before glancing off. He shook his head violently, trying to ease the sudden sting of pain as the earpiece bit into the delicate skin inside his ear.

_This helmet must have an extra protective coating, _he thought, trying not to think as Tuley flicked the kill switch with his thumb and twisted the key in the ignition.

_Crack. _

Artemis flinched forwards, and dust exploded from the wall just over his shoulder. There was a bar behind him for pillion passengers to hold onto but he flattened himself as much as he could against Tuley's slim back.

'_Go!'_ he screamed in the direction of Tuley's helmeted ear, just as Foaly's now intermittent voice was screaming the same thing through his earpiece. '_Go!'_

The motorbike roared to life. Tuley's fist twisted back on the throttle and the bike shot forward.

_Crack_. _Crack._

Artemis swore. He had surely just been flicked in the back by the forefinger of some vengeful, hammer-armed, giant. He was breathless, agonised, the skin of his back screaming. He tried to draw in oxygen but his lungs would not let him. He panicked in the closed shell of his helmet, eyes wide, fingers clenching tightly to Tuley's protected sides.

'_Ar—mis!_' bellowed Butler, his voice crackling through the clearly damaged earpiece. '_Art—is!_'

Light burst into his vision. Someone had thrown open a door. It didn't matter. The motorbike was speeding past it. Artemis caught sight of several burly figures staggering out into the night with their arms – their weapons – extended in his direction.

'_There! Stop them! Shoot them!'_

His thighs rattled with the vibration of machine between them. His eyes were streaming with tears. He still could not breathe—

_Crack._

Tuley's hand clenched on the clutch lever and his foot dropped the bike into another gear. He swerved tightly out onto the main road, forcing a surprised minicab to break, hard. Its driver swore at them and the bike's exhaust howled back. Oxygen was dripping down Artemis's throat; he sucked at it desperately but it felt like drawing mud through a straw.

He was panting by the time they'd travelled a mile, the motorbike's speed never dropping below fifty miles per hour. Once they hit the city outskirts, Tuley opened the throttle wide, and the countryside bled past in a haze of hedgerows and white-eyed cottage windows glaring at them occasionally from beneath the bike's steady main beam.

'Ar—s, spe—k… me,' ordered Butler in his ear, speaking above the roar of the wind. 'Are…h—rt?'

'Shot,' answered the teenager shortly. It was painful to speak and wasted precious breathing time.

'Do… th—k that… bul—et… pe—trated…?'

'No… Perhaps. I do not... think so. You're… the earpiece... damaged.'

'We've got… l—ck on… posi—on,' said Foaly's crackling voice. 'You're out… ba—cally… east. Do you… he's ta—ng you?'

'To a… safe house,' replied Artemis. 'He'll have them… all over… Ireland.'

Butler said something unintelligible.

Artemis frowned. 'Repeat, please.'

But all Artemis heard next were random phonemes. The damaged earpiece was burning in his ear. He rattled his head, attempting to dislodge it. There was one last spark, and Artemis groaned in pain, before the device whined and died. He was left with only the wind to listen to.

Twenty minutes passed with Artemis mentally probing the pain in back. If the bullet had penetrated, then he would most probably have bled out by now. The force of the shot, however, could still have broken a few of his ribs. It certainly felt as though it had. He would have to see Holly for a healing, and soon. If only she wasn't—

He had moved his head to look over Tuley's shoulder and all trains of thought cut off at the pull of pain even that small movement caused him.

He had to think about who had hired Tuley to kill Kinning. Tuley would never tell him, he knew he was a true professional, but maybe he would find some record in the place they were going. The option of hacking Tuley's phone was out without access to his own phone, which he believed had been destroyed in the fall judging by the ominous rattle in his jacket pocket. Maybe Foaly would be onto it. And what was it that Tuley had taken from Kinning's robe? Was it to do with the smuggling?

The bike was purring steadily along a long dirt driveway towards a tiny, lightless cottage Artemis could see up ahead. Its garden was a jungle of weeds and wild grasses, its windows dulled with dust and ancient grime.

Tuley killed his speed and pulled up a few feet from the gate, toeing down the kickstand and twisting the key sharply in the ignition. The bedraggled pair was pitched into darkness.

'Can you walk?' asked the taller boy after a short pause.

'In theory,' replied Artemis, pushing up the visor of his helmet, feeling the cold night air on his face. 'It is breathing… that is the source… of my current... difficulties.'

Tuley swung his leg from the bike. 'I thought you may have been hit,' he said offhandedly. 'It is a good job that I gave you old Bertha to wear. That piece of rice paper your so-called bodyguard has strapped to you wouldn't stop a spud gun, let alone a shot from Gareth.'

'Who?' gasped Artemis, holding a hand to his chest.

Tuley looked at him, his expression neutral, almost bored. 'Gareth O'Keefe. He was the chap who would have got you tonight. He works for the Kinnings now, and likes to coat his bullets for extra penetration. Nice man. Big Bruce Springsteen fan.'

And on that note, he walked away up to the house and let himself in, finding the keyhole by the thin light of the waning moon. Artemis grimaced as he slid from the bike's rear seat. It did occur to him to simply hotwire the bike and drive away. He knew, in theory, how to ride a motorcycle. But then he staggered as his foot hit the ground and a fresh wave of pain washed over him. He gritted his teeth and hobbled towards the cottage.

'Just drop Bertha in the hall,' drawled Tuley's voice from somewhere deeper inside the shadows of the house. 'She will be useless now you've gone and got her maimed.'

Artemis scowled, but did as instructed; he didn't have the breath to argue, or discuss, or possibly interrogate; that would have to all wait for later. Just as Bertha's Kevlar hit the surprisingly springy carpeting, the lights burst on.

The cottage's outside appearance had obviously been chosen solely for the purpose of putting off the casual trespasser. Because everything Artemis's eyes touched now was top-of-the-range, flawlessly decorated and spotlessly clean. The carpets, the wallpaper, the glass light fixtures above him were all delicate, beautiful, on-trend, and obviously very recently installed. It was the interior of a young professional, doing well (very well) and clearly very house proud (or currently employing the services of an extremely diligent cleaner). Tuley tossed his keys into a bowl – which looked suspiciously like a Clarice Cliff – and shrugged off his jacket.

'You'll have to shower,' he said, hanging it up by the collar on a polished brass hook. 'I'm not having you on my sofas in those clothes. I would be inclined to just drop those beside Bertha as well. They are beyond aid.'

Artemis looked down at his rumpled suit, spoiled by sweat, rubbish, and the smallest amount of blood that had spattered him when Kinning had been shot. He wondered, his stomach swooping horribly, if he had any on his face.

'It's upstairs,' continued Tuley, moving through an open doorway to the right which Artemis assumed must lead to the lounge. 'The shower, that is. First door you come to.'

Artemis began to peel back the lapel of his jacket, but even that short movement of his arms caused his back muscles to cry out in protest.

'Will you need any help undressing?' called Tuley from the other room, his voice half an octave lower than usual.

'No,' said Artemis, perhaps too quickly, and he limped towards the stairs.

It took him fifteen minutes to undress. He had to take breaks, his eyes watering, his lungs still raw, to lean against the cool, tiled walls of the bathroom and gather his will to continue. Once he'd got his own bullet-proof vest and his shirt off, he turned to examine himself in the full-length mirror besides the sink. His back was basically one whole bruise. A garden of colours was beginning to blossom across his usually pale skin, but the dominant colour was black; a stippled black, ringed with scarlet, that was darkest in the centre of his spine. Artemis hissed through his teeth. He was lucky that the shot had not dislodged a vertebra. As it were, the events of the night had managed to destroy his phone, which now sat in non-functioning bits on top of the nearby wicker laundry basket, but, he believed, that he had only bruised himself; bruised most of his rib bones, the majority of his vertebrae, but he hadn't broken anything.

He turned away from the mirror, scowling, and got to work on getting his trousers off.

The pressure of the water on his injuries forced him to bite down, hard, on his bottom lip in order stop himself from crying out. He washed himself as gently as he could, finding that the hot water soon eased some pain-free movement back into his arms. He cracked open the most expensive of Tuley's unopened soaps, shower gels and shampoos, upending almost entire bottles over his head. If the other boy had not shot Dr Kinning in the first place then he would not be in this situation. He was miles from anywhere, with a vengeful Jeremy Kinning now gunning for him. He would have to correct that situation, and soon. It would not be long until Jem put his infamous hired goons onto him, and when that happened he needed to be with support and with resources – a lot of support and resources – before he could try and persuade Jem that he had not wished his grandfather dead (though it would, of course, be very interesting to find out who had)…

Artemis had met Jem Kinning three times in his lifetime. Before the first time, at the age of seven, Artemis Fowl had only ever been intimidated by one person on Earth – his father. Following his first meeting with Jem Kinning (who had been introduced to Artemis through Jem's grandfather, an overall much more satisfying character), that number had increased, reluctantly, to two. A few people had called Artemis a 'monster' as a child; those people had not met Jem Kinning aged seven.

Artemis reached out a hand and shut off the water.

He dried himself, gingerly, using every single one of the soft, fluffy towels hanging on the heated towel rack; he left them all to dry in a heap on the floor. He dressed in a pair of guest pyjamas he had found in the room next door to the bathroom and then, after brushing his teeth with five separate guest toothbrushes, he wandered back out onto the landing.

The house was in the dark again.

Artemis's ears strained for Tuley. He could see nothing, hear nothing, but the extractor fan dealing with the steam in the bathroom and the thin strip of carpet illuminated by the light from the door.

'Tuley?' called Artemis.

He felt a sudden chill of regret. Something, some deep instinct, told him he shouldn't have raised his voice. The silence stretched, pressing on Artemis like a physical weight.

He padded to the room next door to the guest room and gathered, from the king-sized bed, the open, albeit empty, arsenal cupboard, and small smattering of family photos, that this was Tuley's room. He walked straight across it to the bay window that looked out over the front of the house. As he had been darkly suspecting, the motorcycle was gone.

Something clattered downstairs.

Without a word Artemis dropped to the floor, ignoring the pain that flashed like lightning across his shoulders, and rolled into the only available cover in the room besides the glass-faced wardrobe (which was no doubt full of Tuley's copious amount of designer clothes). He closed his eyes, shutting out his view of wooden slats, the open door and the few dust balls that had obviously gone untouched by the house's vigilant cleaner, and forced his mind to calm. As soon as his mind achieved calm then his breathing would slow.

_So Jem is perhaps after me already. All right. Forget everything else for the time being._

Then a pair of boots appeared in the doorway and Artemis's ill-gathered calm all but vanished.

'Come out, come out,' said the owner of the boots in a lackadaisical cockney drawl. 'I know you're in 'ere somewhere, an' I'm guessing it's under that bed.'

Artemis didn't answer. So they _had_ found him already then.

There was a pause of a few seconds before the booted man sighed. Without warning, he kicked out, violently, at one of the bed's legs, causing the whole frame to jump a few inches to the right, towards the window. Artemis jerked beneath it, his heart shooting into his mouth.

'_Come on,_' moaned the man, and the double-barrel of his rifle drooped into Artemis's eye line. 'I've got an home ta get to, y'know. I ain't got the time to be messin' around wi' silly bastards like you.'

Artemis still said nothing.

_Think. Think. _

But, for once, he was drawing a complete blank.

The man booted the bed post again. Artemis crawled back on his stomach, away from the boots.

'You've got until the count o' three,' said the man. 'One.' He gave the bed another kick. 'Two.' And another.

Artemis wriggled even further away, his heart hammering in his chest.

_Think! Think!_

'Three!' screamed a voice from behind him.

And an alien pair of hands grabbed Artemis by his bare ankles and dragged him out backwards from under the bed.

* * *

**And there it is! Please review if you would like more, not just with abuse that I should post the last chapter of RA... *hides in the guilt cave***


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